The Death and Resurrection Show
by Abandon Structure
Summary: The Royal Four became human and lost themselves in it, leaving behind a dying world that desperately needed them and refused to let them go. Resurrected and unknowing, they're directed down paths that even the puppet master has no control over.
1. Michael and Raya

**A/N: **I've been having a lot of Roswell related ideas lately and I just randomly started working on this one. The question that started it all: The Royal Four have lived before...so what if they lived _again?_ Though I'm writing this as a fanfiction, it's mostly a fleshing out for a potential actual novel, so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

The Prologues - Michael and Raya

He had had this dream before.

It was the definition of surreal watching the little boy run towards him, all wide smiles, chubby cheeks, and wavy blond hair as he threw himself forward – threw himself into Michael's open arms.

"Daddy!" the joyful cry never failed to elicit a reaction – a strange mixture of awe and bitterness that had him marveling as he stared into the deep brown eyes of his son.

"He missed you." He didn't turn – didn't want to and didn't need to. He knew the speaker, had seen her often enough that he didn't have to see her to know what she looked like.

"He's grown." Even as he made the statement he was struck by its truthfulness – in a strange parody of reality the little boy seemed to age just a little bit with each reoccurrence.

"Children have a tendency to that," she teased, the rustle of clothe the only warning he had before she was there, standing in front of him, reaching for the child in his arms.

He flinched away from her, arms tightening slightly around the little boy, and act she bore with familiar patience as she continued to reach forward, the little boy happily abandoning his father for his mother.

"Who are you?" Michael asked for the hundredth time as he stared into the hazel eyes of the statuesque blond – the furthest image from his wife as she could get.

"You know," she stated simply in reply, smiling slightly at him before widening her grin and turning her attention to their son. "Daddy just needs a little more time, doesn't he? Yes he does! Yes he does!"

The little boy giggled, finding absolute delight in his mother's tone, but even as Michael felt his heart skip at the sound, a scowl was forming on his face.

"Look –"

"It's not time yet," she interrupted, her smile dropping into a sad parody as she settled their son on her hip and turned her gaze to him. "You just have to be patient a little bit longer. You'll find the answers you seek soon, I promise."

He gritted his teeth, fighting back his snappish reply, partially for the sake of the child, partially because he couldn't bring himself to be cruel to this strangely familiar woman.

"I miss you," she stated with a sad smile. He was struck speechless by that smile – the absolute longing it contained, the way it seemed to make her sad eyes all the more heartbreaking. She reached up and he instinctively jerked back, away from her hand – and fell, eyes wide with surprise as his back met with open air and he continued to travel down and down until –

His eyes jerked open, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hand instinctively reaching out to grasp at the warm body next to him.

Raya was already awake, pulling herself closer until she was settled in his arms, her head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped completely around her.

"You had the dream again," she stated, listening to the rapid fire beat of his heart.

"Yes," he replied, fully awake now as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Has anything changed?"

"He's gotten older," Michael stated dumbly and without thought, wincing as Raya's fingers dug ever so slightly into his chest, an involuntary reaction to the wonder and awe in his tone and an unintentional reminder of things better left forgotten.

"And her? What did she say this time?"

"She told me she missed me," he replied. "And that I'd have my answers soon."

"Do you believe her?" Raya tilted her head back so she was looking up at him and he sighed, running his free hand over his short hair before looking down at her.

"Yes," he finally stated. "I do."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Raya turned her head away, her gaze going to the window next to their bed. The curtains were closed but she could almost see what was on the other side.

"Then we'd better get busy. We don't have much time left."

"No," Michael agreed, his grip tightening on her once more, his thoughts racing as a new determination set in. "We don't."

**A/N: **The general format is going to be what I'm calling 'waves' - miniture tidbits going into each persons life. I didn't want to include them all in one chapter because that would mean creating massive chapters and quite frankly I don't have the time for that right now (see all the other fics I haven't updated in forever). Each chapter will be between 200 and 800 words. Generally I'm thinking there will be eight chapters per wave but that'll probably lessen as the story grows.

This isn't conventional couples (that I know of) so don't get your expectations raised. I'd appreciate feedback and honest criticisms, so review please.


	2. Theresa

**A/N: **This wasn't my favorite chapter. It has nothing to do with Tess I just don't like the way it kind of jumps. I don't know...it could be nothing.

She sat in her corner of the library, blinking tired eyes and scowling when the book in front of her continued to waver into _it._

_It _had a name – the Book of Destiny – but she couldn't read it, couldn't understand it. Definitely didn't like it.

It appeared in front of her on an almost daily basis now – every book she read had its phantom image ghosted over it, all the notes she took had strange doodles in the margins. Even her name kept changing. She would write Theresa Hastings but it always seemed to come out Tess Harding.

Whoever this Tess Harding was, Theresa wished desperately she would find another person to be creepy with, someone who didn't have midterms looming over their head.

"Stupid book," she muttered, shutting _Social Deviance: A Study in Adolescent Behavior_, with a bang that earned her a fair share of dirty looks from the rest of the libraries occupants.

"Sorry," she apologized half-heartedly, gathering the rest of her small stack of books before getting to her feet and heading for the stacks.

She'd wanted to get an extra hour of studying – midterms were next week and she was no where near as prepared as she wanted to be, but her traitorous brain was refusing to cooperate.

"Just need some more sleep," she told herself as she shelved the last of her books, turning and tripping backwards with a startled yelp.

"What the hell?" Her confusion was loud – much louder than it should have been – but this was the dead languages section of the library – nobody ever came this deep except for the professors and research assistants and even that was rarely.

"I wonder how long that's been there." She blinked up at the glowing fluorescent handprint, her hands behind her bracing her as she waited for the sting of the impact to leave her tailbone. Staring at the handprint seemed like a welcome distraction from the pain.

"Does it matter?" she answered herself, sitting upright and brushing her hands on her pants to get rid of the dirt before pushing herself to her feet with a faint wince.

The handprint could have been there since the dawn of forever and it was unlikely anybody would notice – it wasn't as if it was on the books or anything. It was almost decorative against the empty wall, a welcome relief probably from the stark blandness of the rest of this section.

She wanted to turn and leave but something about the handprint had her frowning as she stepped forward.

It seemed almost familiar and it took her a few moments to identify the feeling and the desire to leave only managed to grow as a result – staring at the handprint was like staring at the phantom book – strangely familiar and yet completely unknown.

She fought – and lost – to the urge to reach out and brush her hand against the mark, making a low startled noise in her throat when her fingers made contact with the print – and then went right through it.

It was like an out of body experience – she was present but not in control. Whoever was controlling her pushed her hand deeper into the hidden cavern, fingers reaching and questing until they made contact with a cool metal surface.

She gripped it, pulling it out and holding it in front of her. The second it emerged the handprint seemed to glow brighter for a moment before – with a flash – it disappeared completely.

Theresa stared at the now smooth wall with a sick sort of wonder – the sickness growing worse when a glance down showed her the all-too familiar, all-too real Book of Destiny.

Her first instinct was to drop the book and run – get as far away from this weirdness as fast as she could – but an unknown instinct screamed from within, warning her against it.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, holding the book carefully as she struggled to decide what to do with it. "I'll take it with me."

_And do what?_

Her mind was completely blank but still the words came.

"Wait," emerged from her mouth. "Wait and see."

The words were simply enough but there was an edge to them, an unspoken warning that had Theresa's grip tightening before she abruptly turned and shoved the book in her bag.

Warning or no warning, she didn't see how she had a choice in the matter – this stuff was happening with or without her permission and that – perhaps – was the most frightening thing of all.


	3. Max

**A/N: **This one's kind of short because it blends with the next chapter.

Ink flowed faster than blood.

Max had always been fascinated by that fact when he first stepped into the Parlour all those years ago.

The girl underneath him held still enough but there was no hiding the trembling beneath her skin.

"All set," he announced, finishing the last of the delicately arched lines and giving the new tattoo a few swipes before pulling back to admire his work. "What do you think?"

"Its beautiful." There were tears in the girls eyes, not from pain but from sheer joy, a shining fierceness that settled over Max eliciting quiet pride.

"Amy'll handle you at the front while I clean up here."

"Thank you," the beautiful blonde smiled again, even going so far as to shake his hand, before leaving – all business.

Snapping off his gloves and tossing them in a point shot towards the nearest trash basket, his breath buzzed out his lips as he missed cleanly – again.

"Max 0 – the Cosmos," he sighed and rocked back in his chair for a moment before settling forward with a tired, unamused smile, finishing with, "too many to count."

"You got a customer," Amy poked her head in the backroom, all blonde punk-ass bubbly in a pink and black plaid corset , tight black leather leggings, and hot pink four-inch heels.

"Already?" Max couldn't hide his surprise as he glanced at the clock before glancing back towards the Parlour's receptionist.

"Next appointment isn't until five," he pointed out.

"It's a walk-in," Amy replied. "Asked for you specifically. Should I tell her you're busy?"

"Nah," Max didn't usually handle the walk-ins – he liked precision planning with his work – but push come to shove, he always had the option of saying no.

"Does she have a tat in mind?" he asked, getting his stuff collected, absent-mindedly reaching down to toss the discarded gloves back in the trash can.

"Real simple," Amy replied, setting a scrap of a drawing down in front of him. "Looks kind of supernatural to me, but I ain't ever seen something like this before."

"No," Max stared at the drawing, feeling the blood drain from his face as he held it in his hand. "But I have."

**A/N: **Curious yet? :D


	4. Liz and Max

**A/N: **I have to type the next four chapters because they're in longhand but they should be up by Tuesday at the very latest. Feel free to harass me if they aren't.

"You need to relax, Turner. This isn't the end of the world – it's just the beginning."

"Easy for you to say," Liz replied, not without humor as she watched her editor toss back another Cosmo. "You're not the one who just shot your credibility to shit."

"You're a certified genius," Eleanore waved off her concern with one boozy hand. "You're expected to do crazy shit. Your boss – "

"Ex-boss," Liz interrupted, taking the glass from Eleanore before she could actually concuss anybody with it.

"-should be grateful," Eleanore peered at her no empty hand with some confusion before – with a shrug of her shoulders – reaching over to snag Liz's untouched drink with practiced ease.

"He should be grateful," she continued, picking up right where she left off, "that you didn't get a sex change operation and change your name to Butch or Sundance or some other embarrassingly overcompensating thing. Am I right?"

"I don't think so," Liz replied, feeling amused despite the stress of these last couple of weeks. "But you are definitely drunk."

"No shit," Eleanore agreed, stumbling to her feet in an embarrassing show of ineptitude before thrusting her purse in Liz's general direction. "Now take me home before I make a fool of myself."

* * *

Eleanore lived in a ritzy upscale neighborhood but it was the contrast of the rest of the city next door that drew most of her attention.

Parking Eleanore's car after pawning the older woman off on the poor, unfortunate bell man, Liz wandered into the midafternoon crowd of the city, breathing in the smoggy air and releasing it on a sigh as she settled her hands in her jacket pockets.

Fingers encountering a slip of paper, she grumbling slightly to herself as she withdrew them. She'd though she'd gotten all of the scraps of her notes out of her clothes but it looked like she'd missed on.

…or not.

It was a simple drawing – two lines bent around each other with a small triangle in the middle – achingly familiar and yet completely strange.

Caught up in staring it took the jostling of the crowd to snap her out of her funk. Glancing around for the nearest bus or taxi, her eyes caught sight of a sigh across the street.

_The Parlour._

Simple and yet intriguing. Glancing down at the paper in her hands, she chewed on her bottom lip as she debated with herself.

"What the hell?" she decided, checking for traffic before jogging to the other side of the street. Push come to shove, the worst that could happen would be that nobody had a clue and that would hardly be the end of the world for her.

"Hello, welcome to the Parlour," a smiling blonde with a nametag proclaiming her to be 'Amy' greeted cheerfully. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Do you do walk-ins?" Liz asked in response.

"When we have the time" Amy replied, glancing at the ledger in front of her quickly. "Do you already have a tattoo picked out?"

Without really realizing what she was doing Liz found herself handing the drawing over.

"Pretty," Amy admired the drawing for a moment before glancing up at Liz. "We have an artist on staff who does work similar to this."

"Is he available right now?" Liz jumped on the opportunity, feeling her heart kick slightly at the thought of somebody recognizing this symbol – somebody who could finally tell her what it meant.

"Give me a sec – I think we'll be able to fit you in." Amy ducked out from behind the counter, clicking her way to the back in heels that Liz could only cringe at.

She reappeared moments later with a smile.

"Cost'll be fifty even," Amy stated, signaling a go. Liz handed over the cash and Amy's smile brightened. "You're all set, then. Last door on the left at the end of the hall. Your guys name is Max."

"Max," Liz repeated, nodding her head once before walking down the hall.

"Hello?" She peered into the empty room with some confusion. "Max?"

She walked three steps into the room before stopping, literally unable to take another step.

Her breath stuttered in her lungs as the door clicked solidly shut behind her.

There was silence – a nothing void – that was suddenly filled with the sight and sound of _him._

"Who sent you?" The man of her dreams questioned angrily. "And who the hell are you?"


	5. Kyle

**A/N: **I didn't have time to type up the others. Bad Abandon! Bad!

"Kyle." Kyle fought the urge to sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stave off the impending headache.

"Rachel," he tried a smile and knew from the expression on her face that he'd failed. "How are you?"

"Fine. And you?" It was baffling and heartbreaking, this sudden change in fortune. Three months ago Rachel hadn't been a stranger – she'd been his wife. And now…

"What do you want?" It was the only question he had left to ask her since he'd given up on the why weeks ago.

"I found another one." Even as she took the photo out, his lips were forming the denial – it wasn't a game but he was getting tired of being played.

"He's four years old," she held the photo between them like a shield, a focus for his attention to distract him from the desperation on her face.

"His name's Dylan," she continued on, "and he's been missing six months."

He hesitated a moment, glancing from the photo to her face before reaching up to grab it with an exhausted sigh.

"Same as the others?" He asked, studying the photo carefully.

_Cute kid, _he thought. Blond hair, blue eyes, and an impressive set of dimples. How anybody could just forget a face like this was a mystery.

They were all mysteries – dozens if not hundred of children gone missing all around the world and nobody seemed to even notice.

"I talked to the parents myself," Rachel confirmed, hands twisting restlessly as she struggled to look anywhere but at him. "They didn't believe me even when I showed them the photos."

"And the suits?" Kyle couldn't keep the note of censure out of his voice. Rachels head jerked up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she snapped at him.

"I was careful."

"You're always careful," Kyle snapped back. "But being careful isn't the same as being safe."

"I can't let this go, Kyle," Rachel pleaded at him, doe eyes watering and just about breaking his heart when he needed it to be whole and cold. "You of all people should understand why."

His chest tightened with her words and he knew his agony must have shown on his face because of the brief flash of satisfaction he saw in her eyes.

"That's different," Kyle spoke lowly. "Nathaniel's not missing."

"Don't," Rachel cut him off abruptly, half yelling the word at him, her bottom lip trembling before she shook her head, wiping the tears from her face as she regained control and calm. "Can you help?"

Kyle didn't push, knowing at this point it'd only be cruel, so he let her direct the conversation back to Dylan.

"I don't know yet," he replied, staring at the photo in his hand with a frown. "But I'll try."

**A/N: **I'll do my best to keep this story going. I've started on the second wave which is going to be a little bigger and - I hope - more informative.


	6. Isabel and Xander

**A/N: **I lied. Turns out I still have it in me to do some typing this evening. Enjoy!

Smoking was a crap habit for a doctor to have but Isabel was a slave to her nightly nicotine habit.

Standing in the cool autumn air, she pulled her jacket tighter around her and swore for the thousandth time to give up smoking.

"It's a dirty and expensive," she reminded herself diligently before scowling darkly, glaring at the tiny glowing butt, "and too damn cold."

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice came from her left and startled the beejeezus out of her.

"Sorry," the speaker hastily apologized when Isabel continued to stare at him, wide-eyed and speechless. "I shouldn't have interrupted. It was rude – I apologize."

"No, it's alright," Isabel found herself grinning at the man's cute weirdness. "It wasn't that great of a conversation, anyways."

"Arguing with yourself?" He clucked sympathetically. "I hate those kind – I'm never sure if I won or lost the argument."

She laughed at that and his smile widened.

"Isabel Jacobs," she offered, extending her hand impulsively.

"Xander Weston," he smiled as he shook her hand. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Isabel."

"Likewise," Isabel felt some of her warmth returning as she flirted with this near stranger.

"I haven't seen you around here before," she asked with genuine curiosity. "What floor do you usually work on?"

"Ahh," Xander winced slightly, rubbing at the back of his head as he reluctantly gave her an honest answer. "I work mostly in the basement."

"You're a tech?" Tech was abroad, generalized term that encompassed both the fixers in the basement as well as the IT guys. For a lot of the on-site staff it was synonymous with loser.

"IT," Xander agreed with a rueful nod. "Newly transferred from the east offices."

"Ah, so you came up here for the fresh air," Isabel winced as she glanced down at the cigarette between her fingers. "And here I am polluting it for you. Sorry."

"Oh, no, it's okay," Xander held up his cellphone with a cheerful, quick little wave. "I came out for cell reception. So go ahead – pollute away."

Isabel laughed again and Xander's smile instinctively widened before reluctantly dimming.

"I have to," he pointed vaguely at the cellphone with an apologetic tilt of his head.

"Oh, no, it's okay," Isabel echoed his words back to him with a warm smile. "I have to get back to work anyways. It was nice meeting you Xander."

"And you as well, Isabel," Xander watched Isabel disappear back into the building, his smile dropping the second she was out of sight.

"Unpleasantness," he muttered, grimacing as he hit the button on his phone and waited for the person on the other end to answer.

A click was the only sound he got as someone picked up.

"It's me," he stated simple. "I'm in."

**A/N: **Intrigued yet?


	7. Maria

**A/N: **Maybe I should include some brief bio on the individuals, but then that might interfere with the progression of the story. A little mystery wouldn't kill ya, would it?

"And we're off." Maria's smile didn't drop but it faded slightly as the cameras turned off and the program director reappeared on the floor.

"Great job, everybody," he praised, beaming. "I have a good feeling about this show."

"You always have a good feeling about every show we do," her co-host Jon teased.

"And I'm usually right," the PD tapped the clipboard in front of him. "Ratings never lie!"

"Maria?"

"Hmmm?" Turning her attention to Monica, one of the script supervisors, she waited expectantly for the nervous woman to speak.

"Uh, here's your, um, schedule for next, uh, Friday and the interview with Liz Turner."

"It got greenlighted? When?" Maria practically snatched the small packet of papers from Monica's hands, ignoring the other woman's small eep of surprise as she leafed through the packet.

"Y-Yesterday," Monica stuttered out, taking a deep breath before continuing on. "The producers want you to read her book before the show airs to produce better on screen chemistry."

It was a subtle insult towards Maria's rather pugnacious attitudes towards past guests and she knew it but was too pumped about this interview to give a rats ass.

"Already done," she replied, getting to her feet. "Excuse me."

The book was the whole reason she'd been so desperate to do the interview in the first place – she'd read it on a lark two months ago as part of a 'celebrity review' package right before it was set to be published and she'd been immediately struck dumb by two things: the author's uncanny retelling of a dream sequence that near perfectly aligned with the spectre's of Maria's nights since she was little and the second…

"Who are you, Liz Turner?" She asked the bio photo at the top of the info packet. "And why do I feel like we've met before?"


	8. Xander and Serena

**A/N: **Meet Serena. I'm pretty sure she has - no, wait: spoiler. Can't explain yet. Sorry.

"Where were you?" Serena's voice bit into him, drawing blood.

"Out," Xander replied, letting the blood flow without thought of licking his wounds. It would be a sign of weakness and while he trusted Serena implicitly, he just wasn't the type to let those weaknesses show – not anymore.

"You're risking compromising the mission," Serena griped, cool features full of annoyance.

"I'm following orders," Xander replied, walking over to his section of their shared space and turning on his workstation before settling into his chair with a tired sigh.

"Who's?" Was Serena's immediate question.

"Who do you think?" He shot back, watching the screen in front of him come alive with a new data stream that he studied briefly before flicking his attention to the next screen.

"The swore non-interference." Sometimes Xander wondered if Serena had any emotions beyond annoyed and pissed off and then he always remembered fear – fear of what was, fear of what might be. They both had fear in spades.

"Yeah, well, they swore a lot of things," Xander replied, typing a few commands out as he studied the screens some more. "That doesn't keep them from changing their minds."

"They don't understand," Serena shot back, frustration setting in as she used the workstation to adjust the setting in front of her. "Everytime they try to fix things they only end up making it worse."

"They want results this time," Xander interrupted. "All the other one's were failures. They want a success or…"

_Or they'll stop._

"Don't they know what will happen?" Serena gripped her hair as she closed her eyes against the inevitable realization. "They'll be killing us all."

"Oh, no, Ser," Xander corrected with a macabre facsimile of a smile, his eyes absolutely humorless. "We're already dead. And they know it."

**A/N: **This is the shameless begging for reviews portion of your evening (or morning/afternoon/mid-afternoon/dead-of-night) so please oh please review. Please?


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